


Our Lights in the Sky

by Erisden



Category: Legion (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hearing Voices, Stargazing, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 16:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17004918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erisden/pseuds/Erisden
Summary: When Dad ends up being too busy to take David on an emergency stargazing trip, Amy steps in to take him instead.





	Our Lights in the Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leighlou247](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighlou247/gifts).



> Per the request for David and Amy feels. We always need more sibling feels! Hope you like it!

David couldn’t sleep, because he was stupid.

_Idiot! What were you thinking?_

_What were you doing?_

_You don’t deserve to sleep._

At least, that was what the voices were telling him.

He stared up at his bedroom ceiling, listening to the seconds tick past his ear. _Tick. Tick. Stupid! Tick. Stupid! Tick._

With a soft grunt, he sat up in bed, digging his nails into his temples and squeezing his eyes shut. “Shut up,” he murmured softly, but they kept right on calling him stupid. They never stopped at night, and they were never nice at night.

He slid out of bed. Tonight was a Friday night, meaning Dad was probably still working on whatever he was working on, calculating whatever he was calculating. He stayed up late for his work, and every so often, he would come to wake David up so that they could go look at the stars. Maybe, just maybe…

The walls and the chairs and the ceiling talked, words bouncing off every surface and pelting his mind like hail as he stalking out of his room and through the hallway toward the stairs. The greatest sound always came when he wasn’t paying attention to anything at all, so he let the words blend together and numb his mind until he could hear nothing at all but a low, nagging buzz, until he could see nothing but the narrow floor and the walls and the low ceiling over his head and the coldness of the steps below his bare feet as he crept down. When his mind went numb, so, too, did the rest of the world; so, too, did his visions, did the shadows, did the light.

Only when he was at the door did he shake his mind back into wakefulness. He knocked lightly. “Dad?”

From behind the door came the sound of rustling papers. David shut his eyes and imagined his dad surrounded by papers lined with words and numbers, hastily scrawled notes in the margins of his calculations, the dusty telescope in his room set at the window. The only use his dad had for that telescope was to check the equipment. A simulation for a real, professional telescope, he had mentioned once. Something to help him calibrate for his calculations. David never understood them when he was little, no matter how many times he asked, so he had eventually stopped asking.

“Door’s open.”

David opened the door and peeked inside. The room was dim, save for the light of his dad’s lamp, which flooded the parts of the small room that it could reach. As he’d thought, there were papers on the table, and his dad held a book open with his fingers. Some of the furniture had moved: a chair by the window, instead of by the opposite wall; a portrait lying against the desk drawer, instead of hanging up.

“What do you need?” said his dad, setting his pencil down.

David’s eyes moved down to focus on the lamp. “Can we go stargazing tonight?”

Silence. David frowned. It was just a second too long, and he knew. Knew that tonight was the worst night, with the voices acting up and filling his head and stopping his every thought, and that things couldn’t go as he had hoped. But still, he hoped. And now, he’d been let down.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid for hoping!_

“Ah… I’m sorry, kiddo, but I just have too much going on tonight.” His dad shut his book and swept his hand over the papers, as if to prove to David that there really were papers in front of him. As if to prove to David that this was real. “I have to get this finished tonight.” He must have seen the hurt in David’s eyes, because he followed it up with: “I promise, we can go tomorrow night.”

“You always take me on _Fridays_.” David took a step back.

“Not every Friday. Sometimes, I take you on Saturdays. What’s wrong with going on Saturday night?”

David shook his head and took a step back. “It’s not the same.”

His dad opened his mouth to respond, but David trotted back, threw him a fiery look, and slammed the door shut again. He stalked into the living room and stretched himself across the length of the couch, in an even worse mood than earlier. Whoever said talking to your parents made you feel better about things was obviously lying. Parents only made things worse. Parents never understood. They didn’t care about anything, about important things, about spending time with their kids. About stargazing.

David reached for the remote, flipping through the channels until he found something that looked like comedy. He shut his eyes and let the sound of studio laughter ring circles around his ears. Soon enough, the sound, like dust, floated into his mind, settling on his every notion like a thick, merciful blanket and muting the noise that tried to tap into his consciousness. When he was a child, changeless sounds always calmed him, steadying the nerves he always felt in the pit of his stomach or the tips of his fingers or the bones of his wrists. Constant noises: the gently croaking locusts in the summer evenings, when he lounged among the trees behind his house; the trickle of water along the little rocks by the stream’s edge; the soft whisper through the branches above his head on windy days. David loved nature, loved the wild, loved the quietness of it all.

From the television came a static shout. David opened his eyes, leaning his head back and looking up at the ceiling. Now, it wasn’t so easy for him to tune things out. People could stand right in front of him and talk, yet his attention would stray elsewhere: to that little speck of dust floating in the sunlight streaming through the window, or the shivering blade of grass by his shoe. They all wanted his attention, equally, but he could never quite give his equal attention, it seemed, to anything. 

Nothing except the stars.

And tonight, his dad didn’t care about the stars, and left David alone, without a place to put his attention, without an outlet to drown out the voices. He looked back at the television. This could do, if he were interested in it. But he wasn’t interested in watching anything in the house. Only in what he couldn’t have.

_Get used to it, get used to it, man! You’re never going to get what you really want._

“I’m trying to. God, it’s not _fair._ ” He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his knuckles into his eyelids until he could see light lines across the blackness. Somewhere inside was the image of a laughing girl. It was a silent scene, and David wasn’t sure what she was actually doing. She could have been screaming, for all he knew. “I just thought maybe this day could go _my_ way for at least _this_.”

_You can make it go your way. You can change his mind._

“I can’t _make_ Dad drop everything he’s doing just because I want him to look at the stars with me.” It was a stupid idea that wouldn’t work anyways. If he tried anything, his dad would get mad, and then his mom would hear about it and get mad, and then Amy would hear about it and get mad. And the last thing he wanted was for his family to be mad at him, when all his voices were already mad at him.

_Don’t lose your chance_.

“I’m _not_ going to lose my _chance_ -”

_What’s happening?_

A voice sounded from behind him. “Davey?”

David bolted upright on his arms. The voices faded, and so did the volume of the television, it seemed. As though someone had turned the volume knob down a few notches. “What?”

Amy held a glass of hot chocolate in her hands. A single marshmallow floated in the middle. She made her way around the couch, her eyes darting around the room as though she would find a glimpse of who David was talking to. He knew that was what she was thinking, even if she didn’t say it out loud. _Who’s he talking to?_ That was what the voices said she was thinking, anyways. “It’s late. What are you doing awake?”

“What are _you_ doing awake?” David snapped right back.

Amy stood, her cup at her lips, watching him through the steam with her sharp blue eyes. “You don’t have to get defensive, David. I’m just asking.” Her voice, unlike her words, was soft.

David looked down at his hands, feeling suddenly guilty. Guilt always opened a wound in the walls that barred his truth, and it trickled out now. “I asked Dad if we could go stargazing, but he said he can’t, ‘cause he has stupid work to do or something. But I’m - the - the voices, they started, and I thought - I didn’t say anything, because I don’t want him to worry, but I thought...” He paused, suddenly out of breath. Something that happened whenever he grew too agitated. “I just wanted to go because… because I need - why _wouldn’t_ he go?”

“It sounds like he has a lot of work to do,” Amy said, sitting near his feet.

David didn’t listen to that. That was the thing about Amy: she always tried to be the voice of reason for him. When they were children, and David first began to hear the voices, Amy had been the one to talk him when they became too much. She had always reasoned with him, against them, just for a moment of respite. And for the most part, it worked.

_Maybe he doesn’t know what’s going on._ Not a voice in his head. It sounded like Amy, but he knew he was only imagining it.

And he knew what was going on, and now - now she thought he needed her to explain things. Which he didn’t. “I’m not _stupid_ ,” he snapped, pulling his feet in. “I know that.”

Amy looked stricken, and then worried. Like he had punched her in the gut and then forced her to watch him chew his own tail off. “I didn’t say you were stupid.”

“You didn’t have to.” Scowling, David ran a hand through his hair, balling his fist up lightly to tug at the long locks. His hair was just long enough that it always got in his way. “I get it. Dad’s busy tonight. You don’t have to tell me that.”

Amy looked down at her drink, blowing lightly at the steam. She looked so guilty that David almost opened his mouth to apologise. But why? Why should he, when she didn’t understand that he didn’t want everyone to think he was slow all the time? It wasn’t like she was doing him any favour, telling him something that would have been obvious to a fifth grader. Just because he wasn’t like everyone else, that didn’t mean he didn’t understand things. In fact, he understood more things than everyone else, because they didn’t know what he was going through, and he did.

He was suddenly aware of Amy’s voice. Outside his mind this time. “... could go with you.”

“What?”

“I said, maybe I could go with you.” Soft, timid, and a little bit nervous. Like she wasn’t sure what David was going to say to that. Or maybe she was afraid he would have another outburst. “I don’t have anything else to do tonight. If you want.”

David’s frustration faded into confusion. “You want to go with me?” Maybe he heard wrong.

“If you want me to.” Amy offered a light smile. She still didn’t look very certain of herself, or of what she was saying, or of what David might do.

“Don’t you have homework?” She _had_ to have homework to do. She was in _college,_ and college students always had homework, all the time. Maybe she was just offering to go with him to procrastinate on it. Some ulterior motive.

“David.” Amy frowned. “It’s Friday night. I don’t have to do my homework on Friday night.”

“Aren’t college kids supposed to… I don’t know, go out partying or something on Friday nights?” Now he was just saying things to be saying things. Amy had never been the type to go out and party. Even when she was his age, she had preferred to stay home. Once, when he was angry at her, he had accused her of having no friends.

David still felt guilty for that, and he was reminded of it when he saw the flash of confusion in Amy’s eyes, as though she were thinking of his comment and considering that maybe, maybe, she had no friends after all.

“Not me,” she answered, lifting her cup to her lips and taking a small sip. That was always her favourite way to procrastinate an answer to a question. “I’m not like everyone else.”

_Just like you,_ chirped the voice in David’s head, the one that sounded like Amy. Like this voice in his head was trying to tell him that she wasn’t like everyone else, just like he wasn’t. They were tied together, as siblings.

But David only shrugged. “You’re just saying that.”

“I want to go,” Amy said, her voice sounding almost urgent. “If you want to go, I can take you. Mom’s sleeping, and if Dad needs to stay in and work, then he won’t need the car.”

Truth be told, David wasn’t sure he wanted Amy to take him to look at the stars. Stargazing had always been something that he and his dad did. Amy had never gone with them. Dad had never woken Amy. It had only ever been a father-son thing, not a family thing. Dad was the astronomer who had an intimate connection to the stars, and he had passed that knowledge on to David. Amy had never been part of that. She wouldn’t understand. Besides, the stars talked. She would comment on it if she ever found out about that, and he didn’t want to hear it. _Who cares what everyone else thinks?_ It was him and the stars.

The stars. The stars he so wanted to see.

“Okay,” he answered, before he could think of anything else. Not a ‘no thanks,’ not an excuse that he only wanted to see the stars with their dad. Just an ‘okay.’

Amy’s eyes lit up, and she looked at him eagerly, like he was a teacher who had just granted her permission to graffiti the walls. Like it was actually important to her that he agreed. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean…” He turned himself forward on the couch and sat upright, intent on not letting her know just how much he was looking forward to the stars. “I mean, if you _want_ to take me, I wouldn’t say… because I really want to go, but Dad…”

“Dad said he can’t go,” Amy interjected, “but that doesn’t mean _I_ can’t go. Come on, it’ll be fun. You can show me your favourite spot, and I’ll keep you company till you’re ready to go. How’s that?" 

“Yeah, that… that sounds good.”

She smiled and took another sip of her hot chocolate. “Let me finish this, and then we’ll go.”

Soon enough, Amy finished her chocolate. David left to retrieve his jacket, and returned to find Amy already waiting by the door for him, her hands slipped into her jacket pockets like her fingers were already freezing, which David wouldn’t have thought anything of, had it not been the beginning of September, and warm outside. “Ready to go?” she asked cheerily.

David nodded and trotted around to the car, hopping into the passenger’s side of the truck long before Amy even reached her side. He leaned against the door, his elbow propped on the armrest and his jaw pillowed in his palm, and watched as she tugged the door open and checked her pockets, taking her time to make sure she had her car keys and her house keys and her license settled in the right pocket before finally sliding into the driver’s side and shutting her door. She started the ignition, paused, and then checked the dials and their seat to make sure everything was in place. Only when she was absolutely certain did she finally start to back out.

“You’re going to have to tell me where you and Dad go, okay?” Amy said, glancing through the darkness.

Her quick gaze reminded David of when he saw things in the shadows, so he spoke a little quieter than he usually did. Or maybe it was just because it was dark outside, dim in the car, and quiet, save for the thrum of the motor. “It’s over by that farmhouse. Just a little ways past, there’s a little road that we turn off of.”

_Is she the right person to go stargazing with you? You could have more, you know._

David shook his head, cleared his throat, and looked out the window.

_Much more than what you have now._

Again, he fidgeted in his spot, running his fingers along his cheek, lightly, so that he could focus on the touch instead of the voice knocking around in his mind. “Amy?”

“Yeah?” She sounded like she had only just remembered that David was there. It didn’t surprise him. That was how Amy was: so meticulous and painstakingly heedful in what she was doing that she sometimes forgot that there were people around. Right now, she was so focused on driving straight that she wasn’t thinking of much else. She had been that way since they were children: always holding her scissors like they were burning her, always cutting her paper away from her fingers so that she didn’t accidentally slice one of them. Every time, she would focus so hard that everything else seemed to fade away for her. David thought that would go away with age, but it seemed only to grow more noticeable the older they got. But Amy, she was successful. She could push past those. People saw her for who and what she was.

_People never see you for who and what_ you _are._

“Nothing.” He looked back out the window, looking at the edge of the road as it whizzed past. “Never mind.”

In the corner of his eye, he saw Amy turn her head, just for a moment, to look at him. Maybe she wanted to say something. Maybe she was worried he was keeping back on something he should say. Either way, she didn’t say what she wanted to. But a little voice in the back of his mind sighed out a short little, _The stars will calm him, and then I won’t have to,_ and blew his wonder to pieces.

Scowling, David moved his head so that he couldn’t see her at all. That left him twisted awkwardly, but he didn’t care. He looked up at the stars instead; the only ones who could make him forget any physical discomfort he had.

Amy was still _here_ , at least, offering to take him out when their dad failed him. That had to count for something. But Amy was the type of person who offered things out of the goodness of her heart, because she cared and because she wanted to and because, in the moment, she didn’t want to see anyone hurt or upset. But that was in the moment; that was only sometimes. Other times, she wouldn’t give a thought. Lately, she was too caught up in her own world to even glance toward David the way she used to when they were children. No, he knew she wouldn’t have done this if their mother had been in the room instead of her. She had never once offered to go with David and their father to watch the stars, because she wasn’t interested. He doubted she was interested now, either.

His gaze followed a single star near the horizon, and as they passed through a thin line of trees, he swore he saw it wink at him. One quick, bright blink in the dark sky, as though it was trying to escape from the fabric of space itself to come to him. It couldn’t reach him. Not when he was behind the glass window of a truck.

The truck bumped softly over a branch. David tore his eyes away from the sky and looked forward. The road didn’t look familiar, and he realised that they had overshot their target turn. He should have paid closer attention. “You missed it.”

Amy slammed on the brake, and the car came screeching to a halt in the middle of the road. “Isn’t it up there?”

“It’s behind us. You missed it.” David didn’t look at her. He didn’t have to. He could see, in his mind, the startled look on her face. Enough to freeze a deer in its tracks. Or however that went.

“Sorry.” That was all she said, before she circled the car around to find the road they were supposed to turn off on. David slunk down in his seat and didn’t talk or look at the sky the rest of the way.

Finally, they reached the end of the road. After a tedious check of the car, Amy let David out and followed behind him. David knew exactly where to go. He could go down this path with his eyes closed, he had been down it so many times. Although this was a different circumstance altogether, what with Amy behind him and not their dad, he still couldn’t help that prickle of excitement in his chest, right over his heart, at the thought that he would soon be right beneath the stars again. They understood him. They knew who he was. He could name every one on sight, and they could name him back.

They reached the top of the hill. More specifically, David reached the top of the hill first. By the time Amy reached him, he was already settled comfortably on his back. She sat beside him.

“Is this your spot?” she asked, tilting her head up to look at the sky.

“Yeah.” As it had been for years. This was the best place to go if they wanted the best view of the stars. No light pollution from the city. Just a stretch of darkness across the long spread of trees that made the stars so much easier to see.

“It’s a good spot. I can see why you and Dad like to come here." 

David crossed his arms under his head, stretching back. It had always been David and Dad, and even earlier than that, David and Dad and King. David would always lie here, just as he was now, with one arm curled around King, pointing out each of the stars and naming them one-by-one, learning the new ones, committing the new names to memory. King liked to learn the names too, and would always stay attentive at his side while he talked. After he ran away, the nights always felt a little lonelier than usual, and the sky seemed darker than they used to be. But David recovered from that, eventually, and now…

Now, he should have been out here with Dad. But he wasn’t, so instead, he looked toward Amy, who sat cross-legged on the grass, glancing around at their surroundings. She was probably looking around to make sure that no one had followed them, but David liked to think, right now, at peace as he was underneath the stars, that she was in awe of the land around them. The light of the gibbous moon cast a ghostly outline over the trees and gave the shadows their lives, but it was beautiful. David agreed - it was beautiful. And it was his. This hill was his, these trees were his, these stars were his. He was sharing it all with Amy, now, and she appreciated it.

Feeling suddenly more fond of his sister, David scooted himself a few inches closer to her. She noticed, just like she noticed every little thing, and looked down to him questioningly.

“I just wanted to,” he said, unwilling to tell Amy all there was to know about how he felt. But that was the right answer. Amy smiled and looked back up at the sky.

The soft and steady hum of the stars brought David away again, tugging his concentration back up. It was a familiar noise, and one that he had been waiting for. When stars hummed, it mean they were waking from their sleep, stirring to attention. David only heard that hum before they spoke to him. It meant they didn’t speak to anyone else. They only spoke to David, because David was the only one could wake them up, because he was the only one who could heard them. He had once thought that he could hear them because he was descended from his father, who was so close to the stars. They carried stardust in their genes, this family, so they should all be able to hear the stars and their warm words, the same way they all saw the stars and their bright glow.

But not even Dad, the astronomer, who studied and dedicated his life and his days and his Friday nights to the stars, could hear them the way David could. It had been a jarring realisation. “They talk to me, too,” Dad had told him, all those years ago, but he meant it as a metaphor, as a figure of speech, as a soothing means for David’s nerves, so that he wouldn’t think himself different.

_David._

But he _was_ different. He _heard_ the stars, and not as a metaphor - as something real. His loved ones couldn’t. Amy wouldn’t be able to, he knew. He watched her outline out of the corner of his eye.

_David, you don’t need to be afraid. You are not alone. She cannot hear the stars. I am only with you._

_I know you are._ No, of course she couldn’t hear the stars. And he didn’t want her to hear them. He _liked_ being the only one who could hear them, even if other people called him names for it. He liked that they only paid _him_ company, and no one else. It made him feel special, it made him feel loved.

_As loved as you are beautiful,_ said the stars.

_I believe you._ And he did. Why would he not, when they told them such kind things? The voices in his mind were unkind, and they jabbed their sharp remarks at him like throwing knives, aimed right for the soft of his stomach. How stupid he was, how mindless he was for not listening to them.

_I would never tell you such things._

David smiled. It was a single voice that spoke to him now. It had no distinct tone, and it came from nowhere and from everywhere at once, as though the vast blanket above them carried a trillion different mouths to bring their message to him. And yet, still, it was only one voice - one that he was no stranger to. This was the star that always spoke to him when he was here on this hill with his dad. The one star that encompassed all the other stars, formless and invisible, but was always with David, and always kind. The one that numbed David’s mind all on its own and turned down the volume on all the other voices in his mind so that it was the only thing David could hear.

_For you, I am everything._

The stars were his escape. A way for him to retreat into something more familiar and comfortable. They surrounded him, forming a dip into which he could settle, and when he was settled, they filled all the empty space inside of him, as though they were making him whole again. On this hill, he would always be whole. This was where he belonged.

_But I am not where I belong. I am a long way from home._

He felt a twinge of sorrow. _If you don’t belong in the sky, then why are you there?_

_My story is long, and not made for you to understand. But believe me when I say that you are special. I found you, and I have been with you from when you were young. I needed you, as you need me now. We are part of each other._

David swore he could hear a hint of sadness in that voice in his head, as though it were some lifelong friend admitting to him all the burdens they had ever faced. He felt sorry, and he felt grateful, too, that this star confided in him, had stayed with _him,_ and spoke to _him._ This was exactly how he was supposed to feel, and he never wanted to feel any different. _Will you ever leave me?_

_Never, my dear. I love you._

That made him smile. _What would I do without you?_

“What?”

And, just like that, David was jolted out of his reverie by the sound of Amy’s voice. “Huh? No - nothing, I’m sorry, I’m -”

Amy turned to face him, a frown knitting her brow. “You were talking, just now. Who were you talking to?" 

David frowned right back. “No, I’m - I wasn’t talking to anybody. I wasn’t talking.”

“Were you talking to me?” Slowly, Amy lowered herself down beside David. He looked at her and saw anguish darkening the lines of her face. “Is that what you were trying to do?” But her eyes told another tale, of a deep and unspoken desire to know, to hear what David’s mind was telling him that she couldn’t hear.

“It’s _not_ . It’s _not_ my mind, it’s the stars. They were the stars, Amy. The voices.” In his voice, in reply to her eyes, was the desire for her to understand. _Please, please understand the way Dad doesn’t._

She looked startled, as though he had said something she wasn’t expecting. But she should have been expecting it. Dad would have told all of the family, especially before they had found out that he was hearing voices. He would have mentioned the stars. After all, the stars were his life.

“Amy,” he whispered. “Please.”

Amy shook her head. David thought she might stand and leave and abandon him here, but she didn’t. She scooted closer to him, so that she could reach out and rest her arm over his, her palm over his hand. Her arm had a certain weight to it, and when he shut his eyes, he felt that comfort seep through his skin at every point of contact, prickling lightly as it flowed into his veins through the rest of his body. She had a sort of sisterly serenity to her, that was her power: the ability to make him feel like everything would be okay, even when he knew he wasn’t, even if it was just for a moment or two.

Finally, when David had all but forgotten that he was waiting for an answer, Amy spoke. “What do the stars say?”

The wind whispered in a tree behind them, and with it came the voice again, everywhere and nowhere all at once. _Shhhh. Only we will know what I say._

David reached over, setting his hand on Amy’s arm. “Do you know their names?”

“Uh… not very well. I know…” Amy pointed up. “I know that one is Boötes. Dad told me that when I was little. I always look for that one. And, there.” She pointed around to a cluster of stars. “Canis Major. It’s a… a dog.”

“That constellation,” David says, reaching over and pushing her wrist to another part of the sky, “is Cepheus. He was a king. A Greek king. I mean, not a _real_ king, but he was… in the stories, he was a king. And, see that star right there? It’s a little bright. That’s in Cepheus, and it’s called Alpha Cephei. I’m pretty sure they just named it after Cepheus and put an ‘i’ in it at the end.”

Amy giggled. “Would that make it ‘Cepheusi’?”

David wrinkled his nose, trying and failing to hide his grin. “That doesn’t sound as good. It’s some Latin thing.”

“Oh.” Amy laughed softly, but she didn’t say anymore, so David glanced over at her. She looked pleased, and comfortable, and not nervous that they were outside in the dark alone. The stars must have made her feel comfortable, too, just like they made David feel comfortable. She was taking to them nicely, and the stars… the stars were taking to her, too. He knew they were. They loved him. And he loved Amy. That meant they loved Amy through him. That had to mean it. As long as she was safe, and as long as his star-voice loved him, he was happy. 

“Amy?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

Amy raised her brows, looking startled as she glanced over to him. “What? Stupid? No. Why would you…” She paused, contemplating her question.

But David already knew what she was going to ask. Right now, he felt open and honest and closer to Amy than he had ever felt before. “They said I was stupid. That’s why I got out of bed to ask Dad if we could come out here tonight.”

Amy said nothing for a moment. David wondered if she was thinking about whether or not he really _was_ stupid, and whether the voices were right. Somehow, in this moment, covered by the blanket of darkness, it didn’t bother him half as much as it would have. And when she shook her head to answer, he knew. Knew that she was on his side, and would always be on his side, no matter what. If she wasn’t, she wouldn’t have made the effort to come out here.

“I think you did the right thing,” Amy said, “coming out to find Dad. Finding a distraction for yourself. I can’t imagine how hard it is for you, to… to hear what you hear.”

“It’s not all bad.” Like the stars, and that simple voice in his mind. Simple, but comforting. “Sometimes, they’re nice to me.”

Amy reached down to squeeze his hand. “Like the stars?”

“Like the stars.” He moved her arm and scooted so that he was pressed against her side. “Thanks for taking me out here tonight.”

“Thanks for letting me take you.”

He looked back up at the sky, feeling warm and content. “Maybe, if Dad’s busy again… maybe you can take me again.”

“I’d like that.” And then she smiled, and all was right with the world.


End file.
